Only Sir Martin ate generous quantities of the delicious foodstuffs painstakingly prepared by Ruth and Esther King. Kerensa had hardly any appetite and ate nothing after the baked trout. James’s throat was too constricted to swallow and he suffered purgatory under Oliver’s constant and thinly veiled attacks on him. Unable to control the shake in his hands he dropped cranberry sauce on his neckcloth and breeches. He choked on each apology and his tortured mind swung between trying to reason out why his host held such an illogical dislike for him, the agony of wanting to get Ameline alone, and the fear that after all his painful weeks of waiting, not to mention having to endure this dreadful evening, she would turn him down.
Ameline fidgeted and picked at her food. Hezekiah was sitting next to her, although a long way away due to the extent of the table’s length, and his presence spoiled the meal for her. Tonight she had wanted to exert the power of being a woman with more than one man interested in her over James Mortreath. She did not intend to be unkind, just to enjoy her feminine desirability, but Hezekiah Solomon had robbed her of her confidence.
Hezekiah never ate much and only took minute helpings of the food. But he kept asking Ameline to pass the condiments, the sauces, the custards, the nuts and fruit, and while he did not actually engage her in conversation he kept drawing her in by including her in many of his low glances.
Kerensa also came into the span of his attention. She returned his every smile while laughing diplomatically at Sir Martin’s bawdy jokes and doing her best to ease James’s discomfort by warding off Oliver’s open sarcasm. Oliver had no interest in eating but gave much attention to the excellent variety of wines from his well-stocked cellar.
At the end of the meal he bid the gentleman rise to toast the King and Queen. He remained on his feet while his guests reseated themselves and drank to everything and everyone who came into his mind. He even started on national events.
‘This year we saw crowned a new king, the third in succession, although not quite father and son, to be called George. At the beginning of June the King was betrothed to Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, a dainty, pale-skinned lady of seventeen years – the same age my dear Kerensa was when I took her to wife.’
Everyone looked at Kerensa and murmured little nothings with accompanying smiles but she had the awful feeling she was being put up for public examination. Heads turned back expectantly to Oliver.
‘The marriage was solemnised exactly three months later and a fortnight after came the coronation which Sir Martin and I attended.’
‘Oh, I do wish I had been there,’ Ameline interjected. ‘It is said the dear Queen’s tiara and train for the wedding were so heavy—’ She stopped short, not because of the impatient sigh cast by Oliver but because she had brought herself under Hezekiah’s disconcerting gaze again.
Oliver unnecessarily cleared his throat and Ameline looked meekly at her hands. Kerensa would have liked to have got up and dug him in the ribs. James wished he had the courage to remonstrate with him – and ask him to hurry along and finish. Hezekiah smiled graciously at Kerensa, as if he wanted to give her moral support, then turned his eyes back to Ameline. Sir Martin, oblivious of all the tension, started eating again.
‘The coronation was a muddled rather unenjoyable affair, with people rushing off to fetch – of all the things to forget – the chairs of state,’ Oliver continued. ‘The banquet, because there was insufficient light in the hall, was eaten in semi-darkness, and,’ he looked severely at Kerensa, ‘I do hate important things being kept in the dark.’
Kerensa’s insides froze but she kept her wits together and smiled back at him with all the calm and warmth she could muster. Again came that look of understanding from Hezekiah and she took refuge by keeping eye contact with him.
Oliver suddenly seemed impatient with what he was saying and quickly rattled off his next words.
‘The King apparently did not marry the lady of his own choice, a certain lady of the court and quite eligible for a royal match. But he bowed to duty. As we all must. As we all ought to! But at least the marriage, although dull, is said to be a happy one – and something must be said for that!’
Kerensa had heard something about the King herself. That he was a devoutly religious man and kindly to his wife and probably wouldn’t approve of her husband’s present behaviour.
‘The colonial war we’ve been engaged in on land in Germany and on the ocean with objectives in Asia and America I’m delighted to report is going well for us. We’re running down France’s navy and have taken a station off that country at Pondicherry. It seems to me there is little risk of our own country being invaded, as some people fear. I must say I envy all those fighting for King and country!’
As if he had run out of steam Oliver sat down but before anyone could say a word he resumed his speech. Kerensa knew he had the intention of keeping them seated at the table for as long as it suited him. After remarking that the nation was becoming increasingly industrialised he moved on to topics closer to home. He proposed a toast to the members of the parish of Perranbarvah who had died in the last year.
‘We saw the demise of forty-eight inhabitants in all, sadly not many through the natural causes of old age. Many died as the result of a fishing boat tragedy,’ he looked at Kerensa with hostile eyes, ‘a most painful occurrence. Then there was the mine accident, in which many were lost, a case of blood poisoning, two women lost in childbed, five children lost through the measles, a fall by a roof thatcher, the drowning of a swimmer and a suspected case of murder through suffocation. Other local events of tragedy include the foundering of two ships in Mount’s Bay with the loss of all hands…’
Kerensa’s face was flushed and she signalled to Polly, who was clearing away dishes from the sideboard, to fetch her a fan. When the fan was in her hands and put rigorously to use Sir Martin motioned Polly to place the still laden food dishes around him so he could partake of a second supper.
‘…A storm lashed the coast on the night of January the thirty-first, giving the year its violent start, and Martha Trewint was quads at the same moment the thatched roof of her cottage was torn off.’ Would Oliver never finish? James wondered desperately. ‘The infants all survived and were aptly named Tempest, Gale, Blaze and Glory. Peter Blake’s new residence was completed and the family moved in, but he is still an outcast of the gentry and deservedly so. No one was brought to book for free-trading despite one of its busiest years. The Reverend Ivey baptised twenty-four infants and conducted eleven marriages but no one in the parish was confirmed. Heather Bawden disappeared, Mrs Tregonning announced her intention of retiring from Reverend Ivey’s employ to live with her widowed cousin at Mousehole…’
Oliver went on and on and Kerensa thought she would either be sick or faint. Hezekiah saved the day by plunging in on a pause.
‘And of course we remember Martin on celebrating his three score and ten and I would like to take the liberty of toasting your health, Oliver, and that of Kerensa, our beautiful and perfect hostess tonight, and good health, much wealth and prosperity to the future Pengarron generation.’
Glasses were sipped from, ‘hear hears’ were said, and after a murmured ‘thank you’ Oliver finally shut up. Sir Martin noisily picked his teeth and looked about for something to spit in.
Afraid that Oliver would start all over again, Kerensa got up quickly, desperate to get away into a cooler, less hostile atmosphere, and invited Ameline to join her in the comfort of the winter parlour. She avoided going near Oliver as the gentlemen rose to see the ladies from the table, because at that moment she wanted to slap his face with all her might.
James was distressed enough to blurt out, improper or not, another invitation to Ameline to converse with him somewhere alone. Together, Kerensa and Ameline looked at Sir Martin for approval and both did not bother to suppress sighs of relief when he nodded from a bowl of cold egg and nutmeg custard. Kerensa showed the couple into her sitting room and fled to the children’s bedroom.
‘Would you mind if I loosened my neckcloth for a few moments, Ameline?’ James said, afraid he would choke if he did not.
‘Please do, Mr Mortreath, that was the most unpleasant meal table I have ever sat at. I can understand you becoming a little overheated.’ Then in two understatements she said, ‘Sir Oliver has been in a strange mood all evening and Captain Solomon has a disconcerting way of staring at people.’
James was very disappointed with her ‘Mr Mortreath’. ‘I rather thought it was James now.’
‘Oh, yes… James…’
She left it to him to proceed and James, who had had enough of being bludgeoned for the evening, decided to get straight to the point.
‘Have you made up your mind whether to accept or reject my marriage proposal, Ameline?’
Ameline walked to the window, twisting a ring on her finger, then paced back to stand in front of the fireplace. James’s eyes shone hopefully as he followed her path but he had missed her agitated hands.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I beg your forgiveness, James, I need a little more time… to be sure of something…’
‘How much more time? Days, weeks, months?’ James could not hide his despair.
‘Only a few more days.’ Ameline smiled to lift his spirits. ‘I am to leave the manor shortly. When I arrive home I promise I will have your answer.’
A little later the new year of 1762 was seen in with little ceremony. Only Sir Martin and Hezekiah Solomon enjoyed the celebration and felt that the year held any promise. Kerensa and Ameline cringed at Oliver’s thinly disguised fury when James declined to play cards. Kerensa had never learnt to play and Ameline was poor at it, which meant there was no fourth player to make up the table. James was wretched and greatly desired to return to Marazion where he was to stay the night with Sir Martin. But the elderly baronet was just warming up to the occasion and after yet more food and brandy he entertained them with accounts of all the New Year parties he could remember. Ameline excused herself an hour later and scurried away, escaping the ordeal at last. Kerensa would have done the same but she felt sorry for James in his misery and she stayed down to chat quietly with him. She knew that if only Ameline had accepted him, nothing else Oliver could have thrown at him tonight would have mattered.
When Sir Martin’s carriage finally left with James and Hezekiah who wanted to catch the morning tide, Kerensa hoped that Oliver would stay downstairs for a nightcap and she could feign sleep when he came to bed. But he climbed the stairs with her, step by step, and stayed at her side as she made a last check on the sleeping children. He did not bother to use his dressing room; pulling off his clothes and shoes he threw them in a careless heap on the bedroom floor. Kerensa joined him in bed, keeping to the edge while wearily brushing her hair.
‘Have you decided how Luke is to be punished?’ she asked cautiously.
Oliver looked at her in surprise. ‘I took it for granted you would have seen to that when you arrived home after the wedding.’
Kerensa felt tears pricking behind her eyes. If he took her to task with his cruel tongue over this then nothing would stop them. ‘I… I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought perhaps you wanted to deal with it yourself.’
‘I suppose we ought not be too lenient with the little fellow this time,’ Oliver said, his tone thankfully genial. ‘It has never been a tradition of the Pengarrons to torment little girls.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ve told Luke and Kane they can have a race for the ownership of the black foal. He can be confined to the gardens for a week. The restraint will be hard for him.’ Oliver laughed heartily. ‘It’s difficult to believe he’s so young at times, only two years older than that little sweeting Jessica Trenchard.’
‘Yes, Jessica is a sweet child, I wish I had more opportunity to see her.’ A thought occurred to Kerensa. ‘Doesn’t Olivia wish to have the foal?’
He was immediately vexed. ‘Do you think I would leave my little girl out of anything? I asked Olivia if she wanted to take part in the race and she very firmly said she did not. She’s too attached to Gipsy, her own pony, and is happy for Luke and Kane to fight it out between themselves, so to speak.’
‘When will they have the race?’ Kerensa asked, laying aside the brush and burying herself under the bedcovers, hoping Oliver would take the hint and allow her to go straight to sleep.
‘When the foal is trained and ready to be ridden will be soon enough.’ Oliver abruptly changed tack. ‘Why are you so far away from me?’ He leaned across the bed and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened, but surprisingly he did not take exception to this. ‘You’re very tired, aren’t you? It doesn’t matter, there’s always another time.’
She expected him to let her go, to turn his back or leave the bedroom. But he held her, very gently, nothing more. And it gave her hope.
Chapter 19
Kerensa awoke to find herself alone. Her hopes that Oliver at last saw her in a better light were dashed by his sulky face over the breakfast table and his surly response to her every remark. She was further dismayed to learn he intended to spend all day at home.
He bluntly refused to ride with Adam Renfree to Ker-an-Mor Farm and look into the urgent problem of the theft of several sacks of winter feed. He dealt swiftly with Luke’s noisy demand that he watch him and Kane practise the race for the foal by telling his errant son that his punishment for his misdeed the day before meant he was not to leave the grounds of the house and was in no position to make demands. Luke threw a tantrum. Oliver spanked him and carried him screaming upstairs to his room where he was to remain until lunchtime and be denied any company in his confinement. Then Oliver went straight back to Kerensa’s side.
Everywhere she went he was on her heels. In the kitchen, out in the gardens and even in her sitting room as she worked on a piece of delicate embroidery on a petticoat for Olivia.
‘Tes like ’e’s afeared to let ’ee out of ’is sight,’ Beatrice rasped.
And always he stared at her, hardly speaking. Sometimes a hard accusing stare, then softening, and his great dark eyes looked as if they longed to tell her something.
At length she could bear it no longer. Throwing down her needlework, she said abruptly, ‘I feel restless. I think I’ll go for a long ride.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘With Ameline lying abed you will be glad of the company.’
‘It’s all right,’ Kerensa muttered. ‘You must have something more important to do.’
‘There is nothing else that I want to do – unless you would like to come upstairs with me,’ he said dangerously.
‘No!’ Kerensa’s snap was out before she knew it and she put a hand to her mouth. She was out of her depth again; Oliver was beginning to succeed in totally undermining her.
‘Why?’ he growled. ‘Don’t you want me today either?’
‘It’s not that,’ she choked, her words forming too quickly, forcing her to clear her throat. ‘You know I always enjoy us being together. I simply don’t want to now. I… I feel I must have some fresh air.’
‘You change and get ready,’ he ordered tersely. ‘I’ll get Jack to saddle up.’
A tap on the door was followed by the appearance of Polly. ‘Pardon me, m’lady, m’lord. The Reverend Ivey is here to see you, sir.’
Kerensa did not wait for Oliver to finish the business the Reverend Ivey had with him. She set off immediately for Perranbarvah.
* * *
Bartholomew Drannock ambled down the last stretch of the steep hill that led to Perranbarvah’s little fishing harbour and slowly made his way towards two tall fishermen who, like many others, were seeing to the maintenance of their boats.
Paul King saw him and called to his brother across the boat. ‘Here he comes at last, Matt!’
‘Reckon I could’ve gone to Marazion and back twen
ty-odd times in the time it’s took he,’ said Matthew King, looking up from the length of sail he was scrutinising for holes or tears, a grin on his broad, whiskered face.
Bartholomew was within earshot but he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he was oblivious of the banter.
‘I believe his mind’s on some maid or other,’ jested Matthew, his giant frame rocking with laughter.
Bartholomew’s two younger brothers, Charles and Jack, on their way to help with the work on the lugger after selling dead fish for manure, filed in behind him, snickering. But Bartholomew did not hear them either.
‘It’ll take some maid to catch he, I d’reckon,’ Paul bawled out, signalling to Charles and Jack to join in the fun. ‘Be easier to land a two-hundred-pound shark with a pilchard.’
‘What?’ Bartholomew said dazedly, coming out of his trance.
‘Tes a maid all right,’ Dan Laity, a neighbour and cousin to the Kings threw in. ‘Can’t ’ee see the starry-eyed look on his face?’
Bartholomew swelled up and grinned. He was proud of his prowess with the females and his reputation as the local cock of the walk among the fishermen. His brothers were proud of him too. Charles at eleven years old was beginning to understand the true meaning of the jests and innuendoes that passed around the moored boats when the womenfolk were not around and listened carefully, telling Jack what he thought they meant. Jack, nearing ten years, was more interested in play and bird watching.
‘Good, was she, boy?’ Paul shouted down from the boat.
‘Let me put it this way.’ Bartholomew breathed in a lungful of the sharp salty air and looked round at the expectant faces. He toyed with the idea of launching into a lurid account of a past conquest, but mindful of the respect owed to the older and religious fishermen and the presence of his younger brothers, he disappointed the indecently minded minority by saying simply, ‘Yes.’
Pengarron Pride Page 24